


Unexpected

by unsettled



Category: RocknRolla
Genre: Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-26
Updated: 2010-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-13 09:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He can count the number of times he's actually met with Archy on one hand.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt at the kink meme.

Normally when Archy comes for a visit – ok, Archy's never come for a visit before. It's always been on the phone, mostly Len, Len ranting and raving and threatening, and it's always a relief to hear Archy's cool tones, even when they're saying something as unpleasant as his last few calls.

But he can count the number of times he's actually met with Archy on one hand, and most of them seem to be at some place where he's ... not at his best. Attempting to be athletic, say, and therefore drenched in sweat and putting on a poor show and generally, not what he'd like Archy to see.

Because Archy is ... intimidating is one word for it. He comes close, and it's like all the air in the room has been sucked away, like Archy's smothering him just by _being._

He didn't exactly _mean_ for this to happen when he'd glanced up at Archy though lowered lashes and joked, with the smug sense he'd never be taken up on it, about what other services they could bargain for. Certainly hadn't expected Archy to smile, slow and wide and predatory, and move in swiftly, until Archy was bare inches from him, and if he'd thought simply being in the same room as Archy was breathtaking before, now he's gasping for breath and _Archy hasn't even touched him._

He brings a hand up, trembling faintly; he hopes not enough to be noticeable, but Archy's good at seeing the little things. Brings it up and curls it around the knot of Archy's tie, fine silk cool and smooth beneath his fingers. They dig into the fabric, teasing open the sliding knot – and then, and then –

Archy thinks he's going to loosen it, pull it off and toss it away so he can have full access to that lovely neck, so he can place his mouth on it and mark it up, indelible and vivid and possessive – and oh, while that's tempting as fuck, that's not what he has in mind.

Instead. Instead, he tugs it, tightens it until it is snug against Archy's throat, crinkling the collar of his shirt, and tighter, tighter, until it is biting into the skin even through the fabric, until Archy is staring at him with slightly glazed eyes and an expression of disbelief – disbelief, and a fair portion of pleasure. Opens his mouth, as though to say something, and instead releases a shuddering breath, that hitches and catches and stalls out in his lungs under the tightening of the tie.

He thinks about smirking, thinks about grinning, but no – those aren't right, those don't fit. Because he's as breathless as Archy, never mind that there's nothing tightening around his throat but the still air of the room. And it's not, he thinks, as he wraps the end of the tie around his hand, over the back of his knuckles and around, again and again until he's tugging Archy forward, closer and closer, thinks, as he has to tilt his head back to keep his eyes on Archy's, thinks – he's not the one in charge here. There's no doubt in his mind that if Archy wasn't amused, wasn't turned on, wasn't wanting this in some strange way, he'd have been left toppled over on the ground, choked on Archy's presence and face burning, stinging, tears sharp in his eyes. Eyes that would be lowered, watch the floor, watching those fine shoes.

He's not the one in charge here, and that makes it ten times more enticing to pull Archy close like this, Archy's hands falling to either side of him, flat on the glass topped desk. Pull him in until he's breathing against Archy's lips, their short, harsh breaths matching one another's, until Archy's only choice is yes, is to kiss him, and who cares if there was nothing about kissing in their joking agreement. Archy kisses him like he's dying for air, like he can only take his breaths from another's lungs, like things are about to be flipped, like Archy's about to shove him down on the desk and bite at his lips, about to push his legs up and fuck him, here, now, fuck him until he's screaming despite the fact that anyone could hear them, anyone could _see_ them, and be gasping for air the whole time, tie still wrapped tight around fingers, tight around neck.

He likes the though of Archy doing this, but – he pulls back, slightly, enough so that if Archy wants to keep kissing him, he'll have to sway forward. Which Archy does, but still, not enough.

"Not here," he says, and he's proud of the way his voice almost doesn't waver.

Archy draws a sharp, strangled breath. "No," he says. "Not here," husky and rasping and _fuck all_ enticing.

Steps back. Is brought up short.

He raises his hand, lets the tie unspool and grins at Archy, this time; can't even help it.


End file.
